


Sarajevo

by Zugzwang (thunderdone)



Category: Game Grumps, Markiplier (YouTube RPF), markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Egobang - Freeform, Egobangiplier - Freeform, Happy Ending, M/M, Masturbation, Music, No Angst, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Polygrumps, Sensory impact, Smut, Too Many Metaphors, how do you tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 03:00:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9103573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderdone/pseuds/Zugzwang
Summary: Dan Avidan loves his boyfriends, he loves to play his boyfriends, he loves to pull the sounds from their throats and wrap himself in a watery mass of just them and the feeling of them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It's fuckin two in the mornin and I haven't edited this and yet I'm posting it because I'm proud heck off. Also??? For some reason the tag for Markiplier under fandom won't show up but I fuckin am on your shit I know it's there ao3 I hope it still works. I also did this as a sort of trade with my buddy ash. Also this is only the second smut thing I've written aaaaaall on my own. Please criticize my work I want to improve.

Everything was sound to Danny. His thoughts weren't usually based in the realm of vivid pictures he hadn't witnessed before, weird other worlds which some people could paint or create away with. They displayed their worlds of bright or monotone colors, through vastness or minimalism, through any way imaginable. Other worlds to Danny were sounds; how their whine rushed differently to earth's, their own normal animal sounds, chaos to them as organization and uniformity through music.

It wasn't a surprise, then, that when he jacked off, everything was sound.

Over the years, with Arin more than Mark, he had grown to understand the visions they craved. With Arin's... Guide is a good way to phrase it. With Arin's direction, description, and in some cases, repositioning, he understood the desire held close to his heart. He was able to pull into his mind Arin's images, what Arin liked to see him in, surrounded by, the gentle angles. Occasionally, he would get Arin's images stuck in his head, like a song stuck on repeat, playing over and over until you begin to get sick of it (but never that sick of it, really).

For Arin, there was Mark, against his eyelids, legs splayed at an angle just barely in the realm of comfort. He shook, wherever he sat, just barely, close to the edge with his head thrown back (it was Dan's personal flare that shone through when he asked the color hair he had [answer, the baby blue] and didn't exactly get an answer better than 'fuck, every color, man). Yes, there would be something inside of him and yes, he wouldn't be allowed to touch, only to keep his hands braced behind his back, but no, Arin wouldn't be in front of him. He would be beside him the entire time, only occasionally pressing the pad of a finger slowly up along a visible vein in Mark's cock.

That took simply months of talking to come up with together. Such a simple image to Arin, but without seeing it firsthand, it took just that long for Dan to be able to stick an image in his brain.

Mark wasn't as manipulative of visual media as Arin was. Everything was touch based, for him (which probably made jacking off fucking heaven, which Dan made a point to point out, and was totally unfair). It wasn't usually, though, about the feeling of his dick in his hand, more the feeling of his hand on his dick, when he was just thinking.

So it wasn't feeling the weight of Arin's finger as he dragged it over the vein that egged him on, it was the feeling of his hand folding over Arin's hair, getting it out of the way of his neck that drove him wild. The sexual peaks and valleys were mirrored by someone else's body, rather than his own. Just the feeling, touching, biting, scruff rubbing against, anything. It was all fascinating.

Personal favorites? Mark confessed to him that, on Arin, there was a little patch of skin just under the natural swell of his stomach, toward his left hip that he was partial to. It was a tender little area, and, for Arin, square in the area not exactly ticklish, but not exactly arousing, either. On Danny, it was another small patch of skin, where his thigh met pelvis, but no further than the little inward swell. That small space was square in the 'holy fuck' zone, for Dan. And most guys, probably. Speaking of most guys, the best general area he considered on most guys? There was the little valley between breastbones, sometimes where you could feel pure ribcage, other times, only muscle.

But they weren't Dan. Dan didn't see Arin with his back arched, mouth stuck open in a long gasp when it was late, quiet, and bordering on lonely. He didn't exactly remember the feel of Mark as he tensed under his fingers, then fell into nothingness.

What Dan remembered was the gasp, all air at first giving way to the soft coo from the back of his throat as Arin fell back into his arms. He called to mind the mid-high c-sharp pushed up from Mark's as he pressed himself down into covers, each shift in fabric a wave entering, leaving, pushing forward, pushed back by the moon of his life.

There were the small sounds, usually found earlier in a session. It was the little digs through hair, the sound of sand soaked feet moving across a stone jetty, accompanied by soft background music. That's what always started it off. If Dan was the one that picked, it switched between Steel Panther and Joy Division, between serious and silly, which was what he liked. Mark leaned toward the more classical variants, if he had the choice, and Arin, anything, a grab bag. Small sounds also consisted of outside sources, the hammer of a clock or the hum of electricity spinning a ceiling fan. If he was extremely lucky, it would be silent, except for that, a dark effect on his senses, a cleanse of the pallet. He drank in silence like a food critic sampled water.

The medium sounds got things going, the medium sounds made Dan begin to squirm where he sat. If small sounds were the hunger, medium sounds were the appetizer. Sure, you could get a sip of water whenever, but you knew things were coming soon to a theater near you when you go the appetizer. In the presence of medium sounds, small sounds dropped away, less noticeable unless changed, or vanished.

But the medium sounds. Those were skin against skin. They were his hands sliding up and down Arin's waist, shifting from using just skin on skin to nail on skin, from the fold of pages to a jackhammer against goosebumps. Arin's breath changed, as it always did. That breath could get a whole damn book about it and its vitality, its versatility. It was when it changed from unmeasured, instinctual breaths to pants, from deeper in his lungs, butterflies forming, together, small tornadoes.

Or they were made of Mark, with his teeth, close to clumsy when they pushed forward at the same time only to clack teeth. Those teeth, scraping down his jaw, up from his Adam's apple, to convene, together, to pull at his skin on his neck, let him lose his own sounds. Mark was an expert at pulling sounds from Dan, making him aware of his own medium, a perfectionist at bathing him in his paint to be discovered. But nobody thinks about themselves when they're jacking off.

The variants of large sounds had to be separated in three, when Dan had his wits about him. Because, by now, or when the loud sounds started up, nothing mattered. His pants were down, pooled around his knees as he laid in bed, a pillow pulled close to his cheek which he bit down upon near climax, or even nowhere near climax, where his own whines began to drown out the music his boys pulled from themselves. He didn't want to mute any of it, as their crescendos pulled forth his own, spilling out into peace.

Large sounds part one were from them, their voices, the things they had such a minimal amount of control over. Large sounds were Mark, against the wall, with his nails dug deep in Dan's shoulders, with his head tilted back and shouting to the skies. And it wasn't just any shout, it was just a fucking shout, it was one for him, it was a shout of who he was and who he loved, only ever to be heard by two people, and only one, of which, who had such a deep appreciation for it.

They were Arin, cursing like a damn sailor beneath his hips as he rocked them down into an ocean of heat, dragging him down, trying to drown him, only to push him back up, toying with him. His moans usually came from his chest, which, well, was better on his voice than it was for Mark, at least. But also fucking got Danny going, just when he pressed one hand perfectly over Arin to feel the vibration shoot up his fingertips.

Large sounds part one were from their bodies. It was the sound of Mark's nails dragging down his back or the belt still just a bit too close to them jangling when kicked away without hesitation. They could be Arin, just as Danny patiently waited, out of sight so where behind him flicking on one of his little toys, before pressing it forward, not in, but on, pulling strength from Danny's back and letting him relax, almost tumble back into a supportive shoulder, it was their skins meeting.

Large sounds part three were from togetherness. Small and medium sounds could be found anywhere, they were more simple. But, this level of large was only found together, where their bodies became an orchestra, a marching battery, an entire band. Arin played percussion, rhythmic with his movements, both hips into Mark and his mouth against Dan's neck. Of course, Mark had to be the band kid, perfectly timed and clear as he played out, aiding the blend between Arin and Danny as they fought for power, at times, the orchestra fighting the rigidity of the pit, and fucking loving every second of it. Together, they were god damn Sarajevo.

There were the after party sounds, too, when the guests had gone home and all that was left was the ensemble between friends. It was the slowing of breath, as they came down from their highs, separate and together, just to press foreheads together, to fold hair back away from sweat slicked bodies. They were Dan's tiny laughs that he just couldn't hold in any longer because it was all just fun, everything around him and in him was fun and he had to laugh. Arin's careful disposal of whatever they had left that they wouldn't use some other time. Mark's hands covering his face for a couple seconds before air hissed through his teeth.

Thinking about his symphonic boyfriends got Danny hard as hell.


End file.
